


Primo Assaggio

by Hamibal (CatsAndHounds)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, inexperienced cannibal oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsAndHounds/pseuds/Hamibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inexperienced cannibal oral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primo Assaggio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Disco (CatsAndHounds)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsAndHounds/gifts).



The yearning is new. Hannibal had thought Will had already brought him as low as he could be taken, but this new thing—yes, there is a sweetness to it, but he had until moments before been entirely satisfied with every part of their relationship and it did strike a blow—brings out a baseness in him only Will Graham has ever managed.

Hannibal had expected the indefinite moratorium on anything that might get them noticed to have lasted a bit longer than this. Will was the one who had insisted, Hannibal had acquiesced but with plans for the future. It did make sense to see to their own safety and avoid tempting fate. Once better established, they could travel elsewhere if the cloak of a normal life grew too close and hot.

They had discussed the possibility of being recognized, kept papers and cash in a safe on the boat along with weeks of supplies should they have to leave in a hurry. Will had not even wanted to entertain the suggestion of eliminating any threats rather than fleeing from them.

But when the moment came, a lost and drunk American tourist turning down a quiet street, bumping into Hannibal and _seeing_ him despite irritation and inebriation clouding his perception, Will was the one to dart behind the man and pull him into a narrow alley between buildings, one hand sealed over his mouth, the other squeezing a pressure point.

It had taken seconds and they'd gone unnoticed, this neighborhood more residential, it's restaurants and markets geared towards the sunlit hours. He'd followed Will and their unfortunate discoverer after scanning the facing windows, ensuring no lights were on and no faces in them.

The man is trying to scream around Will's hand but isn't fighting back. Will's face is transformed, fierce and oddly furious. Hannibal feels it as well, anger at the intrusion of someone so insignificant into their life here, but it's short lived in the beauty of Will's selfish violence. Will gets his pocketknife out one-handed and bleeds him out, holding the man's gurgling screams in his palm until he quiets and his knees buckle.

Will's expression is wild and triumphant as he stands over their— _Will's_ —prey. The man reaches up for Will with the last of his strength, fingers spread as if in supplication before his arm drops. There is blood spatter on Will's face. It shines on his lower lip. His clothing is dark enough that it only shows on his skin.

They rifle silently through the man's pockets, slip off his watch and wedding ring. They take everything of value, remove the battery and sim card from the phone. Later, they'll burn what they can, and throw the rest into the sea far from shore. 

Will had been deliberately clumsy with the knife. It will be classified a robbery gone wrong. Any temporarily increased police presence will not suspect the obviously rich gay couple who had moved into a long-vacant villa just outside the town and proceeded to spend an embarrassing amount of money remodeling it. The tourists will be looking down alleys and staring down the local youth, not at the middle aged expats sipping coffee at an outdoor cafe.

Their place here will remain secure.

But Will may not. His hands shake when they must briefly step into the path of streetlights and his breathing is far more labored than it should be.

When they're several streets away and safely hidden in the darkness, Hannibal pulls Will to him, and Will goes. They embrace until Will's breathing calms, though Hannibal has to work hard to keep his own steady. He wants dearly to lick the blood from Will's mouth.

The desire has always been there. Never his greatest motivator, but after weeks in Will's constant presence it's grown more insistent, and tonight Hannibal's been brought low by it.

He nearly gives into it now, but, astonishingly, Will beats him to it, lunging up with wide eyes, skipping past tentative chasteness, lips wet and parted and unbelievably warm, still tasting of blood. It's the only part of their prey that they will eat. It's overwhelming, as overwhelming as the night on the cliffside when Will made himself Hannibal's, as Hannibal had long since belonged to him. They both groan, too loud in the empty street, and pull away simultaneously. The dazed hunger on Will's face is likely a mirror to Hannibal's own. But they're pressed against the brick facade of a storefront and though the street remains deserted, Hannibal does not wish to share this moment with anyone. 

He pulls away, and pulls Will by the hand towards home. The walk feels like an echo of a faraway childish anticipation of Christmas, but also the anticipation of completing a composition. Their pace quickens the further out of town proper they get. At one point Will pulls ahead and Hannibal finds himself smiling without ever having intended to.

They don't quite make it inside before coming back together, stumbling against the door, kissing clumsily and off-center. Will laughs, sharp and genuine, against his mouth. It's the first time Hannibal has heard Will's real laugh in years and it brings a tightness to his throat and unexpected tears to his eyes. He lets them fall, regrets it for a moment when Will tenses as he registers the shine in the moonlight. But Will only sighs and kisses at their tracks.

The soft press of Will's mouth to his cheeks threatens to exacerbate the situation. Hannibal pulls just enough away to unlock and open the front door. He hopes that Will does not notice the slight shake in his hand as he flips on the light switch by the door.

Will does not seem to, and crowds behind him before he's quite out of the way to get the door closed. Hannibal turns with him, presses him against it, Will's back warm along his chest.

"Do you feel guilty?" he asks into the shell of Will's ear.

"Guilty?" Will turns his head enough to catch Hannibal's eyes from the corner of his. "No. Not guilty."

"You didn't hesitate."

"I didn't." Will nods awkwardly and pushes back enough to turn in Hannibal's arms until they can face each other. His eyes are dark, find Hannibal's again unwaveringly. "At some point I was going to have to choose and until the moment came I would always doubt which side I'd fall on." He raises his chin, and some of the fierceness from the alley reenters his eyes. "And I don't regret it. I'm glad I chose you."

"As am I. But you know that wasn't your only choice. You could have left him unconscious, we could be well on our way out to sea by now."

"Are you trying to get me to admit that I liked it? It wasn't... like it was before. But I wasn't looking for that. Neither were you."

"What did you gain from killing him, then?"

"I don't want to leave another home."

"Is this home, already?" Hannibal asks with all the delight Will's admission brings, watches Will close his eyes and fight a fragile smile. "Is that why now?"

"I didn't want to do this if I wasn't... certain of my level of commitment," Will says, gives Hannibal the chaste kiss that was absent earlier. It quickly loses its innocence, Will opening up so sweetly for him, biting at his tongue when Hannibal first darts it past his lips then gently sucking the sting away, drawing it further into his mouth. Being inside Will, even in this small way, is intoxicating.

They're both aroused, Will arching his hips against his in a search for friction Hannibal is happy to meet. The situation is rapidly spiraling out of his control. He pulls away, gratified when Will cranes his neck forward with a small, lost sound.

"And you're certain, now," Hannibal says, and drops to his knees.

"Are you— _God._ " Will's voice is shaky, his body curls unconsciously over as Hannibal presses his forehead into the slight softness of Will's belly, then rubs the tip of his nose against the firm, warm bulge of his erection.

The scent of Will's sweat and arousal are stronger here. The dried blood on Will's shirt and hands intrude, but he presses closer and inhales and there's only Will.

They remain there for a long moment, Will's breathing growing more erratic above him, the beginnings of Hannibal's name on every exhalation. They both want this. Neither of them know quite how to proceed.

Hannibal is not a stranger to sexual contact with men, but this particular position and the act that is to come is new to him. Not as new as the intensity of desire, and he has the memory of experiencing it done to himself to guide him, but the novelty of not knowing exactly how he wants to proceed is for a moment concerning. 

Will, he knows, had not considered himself anything but heterosexual, when he considered himself sexually at all.

"We can—"

"Please, let me," Hannibal asks, allowing a note of begging to enter his voice. He works Will's belt open, then the button and zip of his trousers. Then sits back on his heels and looks up at Will.

Will only hesitates a moment before rapidly unbuttoning and shrugging out of his shirt and pushing down his pants. Hannibal's eye is immediately drawn towards the scar curving over Will's belly. It was perhaps unkind to gift Will with something that Hannibal would appreciate more than him. It stands out now, not so livid than the last time he'd seen it but still a violent pink. He kisses it softly, end to end. Will's abdominal muscles tighten and he stops breathing but doesn't protest.

The scent of Will's arousal, less muffled now, is enough to cloud Hannibal's thoughts. He recalls what he enjoyed most about having this done to him; considers what the man Will once thought himself to be would have liked, and what might inflame the Will who stands before him. Breaks eye contact for just a moment to press his open mouth over the cotton-covered head of Will's cock. He breathes shallowly, Will flooding his senses. Will's breathing grows more erratic as the fabric cools and warms with each inhale and exhale, and even the slight taste of Will's pre-ejaculate has him pressing a quelling palm to his own erection.

Wills tug his hair with greater insistency and Hannibal lets it go on until he finally hears a shaky, "Hannibal, _please._ " and relents. He pulls away until Will releases his hair, sits back again and waits as Will pushes down the waistband of his underwear and frees himself.

It's oddly transfixing. The appearance of his partners' genitals had never been of special significance to Hannibal, nor had he gained any particular satisfaction from his partners' praise of his own. Technique, selflessness even if for selfish ends, and a willingness to experiment had always been most important to him.

Yet Will's cock is beautiful, flushed deep red and shining with wetness at the glans, and large enough that Hannibal is briefly concerned about the logistics of the act he's about to perform. He looks his fill, and in the looking Will is silent but not unmoved. Under Hannibal's watch, Will's cock twitches and more fluid beads at the tip and trembles, threatening to spill. Hannibal closes his mouth over it before it can.

If the scent and muted flavor of Will was heady, tasting him directly is overwhelming, salt and slight bitterness bringing to mind a cold sea and ozone after a lightning strike, yet unique to anything Hannibal has experienced. Hannibal had tasted his own pre-ejaculate and semen and felt no particular allure, but on Will he could glut himself endlessly.

Will groans as if in pain when Hannibal sucks gently, curls his body further over Hannibal's bent head before pressing back against the door. 

Hannibal pulls off with soft suction, leaves wet kisses down Will's shaft from frenulum to his scrotum, blood hot on his lips beneath delicate, smooth skin. He breathes Will in again, gives himself a moment to enjoy it.

He realizes as Will's hands flutter plaintively against his skull that there's a need he isn't meeting. He pushes Will's trousers and underwear further down his thighs to ease access and continues where he left off, mouthing at the swells of Will's balls in the tightening skin of his scrotum and sucking them in turn. Every new taste rouses him further. 

"I can't—Hannibal, I can't handle much more of that." Will's hands tug at his hair again.

He glances up to meet Will's intent gaze, lets it guide him back up, wetting his lips and carefully sliding down on Will's cock before sucking hard. Will's mouth drop open and his eyes clench shut and nothing in Hannibal's experience compares to the sight, and to the salty essence of Will's pre-ejaculate melting over his tongue. Hannibal's own body responds in kind. He can feel his underwear growing damp where the tip of his cock rests.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to regulate his breathing as he takes Will further and further still into his mouth, until the head of Will's cock bumps the back of his throat and he forces himself to swallow around it. The stretch is foreign and he cannot imagine what the experience would be like had he a gag reflex.

"Fuck. Hannibal, how—" Will pants loudly and doesn't finish his question. Hannibal moans as well as he can around the intrusion in his mouth in response.

It's unexpectedly exhilarating, reducing himself in this way, allowing his thoughts and senses to become steeped in Will. Will's taste and scent, the alternately hesitant and willful press of Will's fingertips and palms to his face, to the seam where his lips are parted wide to admit Will inside him. The feel of Will pressing back up against the door so his cock slides almost completely free from between Hannibal's lips, the ridge of the corona catching ever so slightly. Watching Will circle the base of himself and squeeze; knowing why. The sound of their harsh breathing, Hannibal's louder in his head than he's used to but Will still nearly drowning it out, gasps punctuated by sharply bitten off sighs and groans and the beginnings of words and Hannibal's name.

Hannibal grips Will's hips and holds him against the door, thumbs slipping under his shirt to stroke his pelvic bones. He sucks Will down again, now with no space for Will to back away. The more of Will's cock he takes down his throat, the more desperate the sounds Will makes. It's a cruelty of anatomy that when his lips finally touch Will's unexpectedly soft pubic hair, he can neither inhale Will's scent where it must be strongest nor taste the fluid now constantly welling up from him.

Still, Will's reaction is gratifying, his fingernails digging into Hannibal's scalp before his control finally breaks and he drives his hips forward and his cock that last bit deeper down Hannibal's throat. 

The stretch verges on painful, and Hannibal pulls back before the need to breathe becomes pressing, barely gets a ragged breath and sense of the burst of salt at Will's urethral meatus before Will grips the back of his neck and pushes back in.

Hannibal surprises himself by groaning into it, letting go of Will's hip with one hand to press against his own erection. He could come like this, palming himself through his clothes as Will uses him.

His vision is blurred with tears when he looks up at Will. He blinks to clear his eyes and feels them spill over, watches Will hesitate, hand gentling on the back of Hannibal's neck until he sees.

"Jesus. You love this," Will says wonderingly after a long moment. His eyes are dark and Hannibal holds them, commits this singular moment to memory. 

Will tugs Hannibal back by his hair just enough leave his throat clear. He inhales instinctively and nearly coughs, but manages a full breath before Will shoves back in. Hannibal's knees ache, his throat more so as Will once again breeches it. 

Hannibal pushes himself past discomfort, resists Will's attempts pull him back until the pressure of Will's pubic symphysis against his nose verges on painful. He swallows deliberately.

Will's hands in Hannibal's hair grow more frantic, but he releases it and clenches them at his sides when Hannibal does not allow himself to be moved. 

"Please, I'll—" Will's voice is rough as if he were the one in Hannibal's place. He cuts himself off with a choked sob as his cock swells almost imperceptibly in Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal presses his tongue against the underside of it and can feel the pulse as Will starts to come, bent over as though punched in the stomach and breathing more heavily than he had when pulled out of the ocean.

Desperate for breath and to taste, Hannibal pulls off, coughing slightly when a jet of semen hits the back of his throat. It's not enough to distract him from experiencing the effects of Will's release, as arrested by his body shaking under his hands as by tasting him fully for the first time. He sucks the glans gently through Will's aftershocks, milks the final drops from the shaft of Will's cock with one hand and tongues them away from the small, sensitive opening.

His probing triggers a small whimper and a sharp jerk to his hair, and one final weak spurt of slightly bitter salt floods his tongue. Hannibal could not in truth call the flavor delicious, but having finally consumed Will in this way he knows he will never be sated. He palms himself, unsure if he is quieting or quickening his arousal.

Hannibal undoes his belt and unzips his own trousers and lets Will's softening cock slip from his mouth, then rests his forehead on Will's soft underbelly. Will sighs and pets his hair. It's not as off-putting as it should be. He inhales deeply and begins to stroke himself, Will's scent a greater pleasure than the physical sensation.

"Hey, wait." Hannibal hears Will only distantly. Feels Will grip his chin and tilt his head up. He's strangely unprepared for how steadily Will meets his eyes. Hannibal's orgasm is rushing towards him. He's always had to chase it.

"Will," he says, his ruined voice a small shock to both of them, and moves to press his face back into the scanty nest of Will's pubic hair.

"Please," Will begs, holds him in place just firmly enough that Hannibal would have to close his eyes or deliberately look away. "I want to."

Hannibal had not expected an offer of reciprocation but is glad to have misjudged Will this one time. He stills his hand, gets to his feet without breaking eye contact. His knees protest, a reminder that he's not as young as he feels in this moment. He watches Will glance down with a tremulous smile to Hannibal's cock, still insistently hard, color that had barely begun to fade blooming again on his cheeks.

They shed shoes and trousers as Will shuffles Hannibal towards the sofa and lays him down. He's half-straddling Hannibal's thighs, one foot still braced on the floor, before he seems to lose confidence, crooked smile and hands braced on his own thighs. Hannibal draws Will down to him, kisses him through his hands' hesitant journey down Hannibal's torso. Will strokes under his shirt and up his sides. Hannibal has been on edge long enough that that small touch would end matters if Will were pressed a little closer and Hannibal could rub against him.

As it is, when Will bites at his lower lip Hannibal arches up unconsciously and the tip of his cock barely grazes Will's stomach. Will lets go and laughs.

"I know. Sorry." Will's smile is rueful and his eyes are bright. The night has brought Hannibal an astonishing array of new experiences but something low in his gut tells him Will's expression in this moment will be the most memorable. 

Will finally takes him in hand, lightly enough for Hannibal's cock to glide through his grip when he pushes into it. He watches Will watch his own hand. 

"Christ, you get wet," Will whispers. It's not always true but is now, Will's fist deliciously slippery, the wet sounds it makes sliding over Hannibal's cock obscene. 

Hannibal thrusts up again and again to meet his strokes, world narrowed to the feel of Will's hand on him and the sight of Will with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, fixedly staring at what he's doing to Hannibal.

"I've never done this—to someone else—before. Is there anything..." Will trails off without looking up.

"You've read me wonderfully thus far," Hannibal says, reaching with an unsteady hand to turn Will's face back to his. "But kiss me again, please, and don't stop." 

The honesty seems to get to Will, who sags like the wind's been knocked out of him. His hand's rhythm stutters and he cranes down before Hannibal can pull him to him. He slips his tongue into Hannibal's mouth with a quiet sigh that takes Hannibal back to the cliffside and hurls him right over, coming so hard he shouts with it, feels it from his sweaty scalp to the soles of his feet. His mind is blissfully empty for several long seconds.

Rapidly cooling wet spots on his shirt eventually bring him back to himself. Will's lips are still pressed to his, but he pulls away when Hannibal opens his eyes. He's deeply flushed and they're both breathing heavily.

After a long moment Will looks down between them. Hannibal follows the path of his gaze, down the sticky wet stripes that liberally mar his shirt, to where Will is still holding Hannibal's softening cock, so lightly Hannibal is not yet sensitized to it.

He surprises Hannibal entirely, lifting his hand to his mouth and licking at the fluid liberally coating his palm, eyes fluttering closed. It brings on a strong aftershock that makes Hannibal's balls ache.

"Hmm." It's a pleased hum, and Will wears a slight smile, but he drops his hand to Hannibal's shirt and rubs the rest on it, adding to the mess. "Better than mine, but I can't promise I'll do as good a job taking it all my first time as you did."

"My dear Will, I have complete faith in you," Hannibal says, steadfastly ignoring the provocation. The shirt may never recover but has increased enormously in value. "As I did?"

"You wore the face of a man experiencing revelation." He grins widely and Hannibal finds he can't help smiling back. "And you choked on my come. Bit of a rookie mistake."

"Will."

"Put the frown away, it's not a critique. I'm just, like you said, good at reading you." He settles on Hannibal's chest and Hannibal can feel the moment he registers the mess he's making of himself—it can't be pleasant—but he only wedges his legs more securely into the seat of the sofa and rests his chin somewhat uncomfortably on Hannibal's pectoral. "It's a bit daunting, actually. That was a lot to live up to."

The directness is unexpected but appreciated and Hannibal answers in kind, "I hold no expectations. If we're intimate in this way often or never again, every moment you allow your truest self to be present with me will be a singular gift."

Will closes his eyes, opens his mouth as if to speak then turns his head to rest his cheek on Hannibal's chest. A penetrating warmth spreads from the point of contact.

Hannibal watches his brow furrow and slowly relax before Will finally responds. "Since we're being honest. I hope you know I feel the same. And you've always held me to my choices, even the ones I didn't make entirely freely. Don't try to leave me a way out of this one."

Very carefully, Hannibal lets one hand rest on the back of Will's neck and push into the soft hairs at the nape. He avoids clutching Will to him with the other. "Very well. We'll turn your bedroom into an art studio."

"Mmm. Or a workshop," Will murmurs, practically into Hannibal's armpit.

"Regardless, we have more comfortable places to spend the night." The sofa is deep, but not designed to accommodate two fully reclining adults.

"I'm fine right here."

"You'll stick to my shirt."

"Don't care. I'll give you a massage in the morning if your back hurts."

He does not tell Will that he would welcome any pain for its cause, and lets Will's slowly deepening breathing carry him to sleep.


End file.
